


Cold Hands

by BlueGirl22



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Gen, I didn't write it with either of those particularly in mind, could be read as romantic or platonic, set sometime between the acts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 15:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14813898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueGirl22/pseuds/BlueGirl22
Summary: Jeremy has had his SQUIP for about a month, and for about a month, he hasn't seen hide nor hair of Michael. However, that's not exactly surprising, seeing as he literally blocked him from his sight. What is surprising is when Jeremy realizes he's not alone at his lunch table.





	Cold Hands

Jeremy swung into the cafeteria, casting his eyes around for Brooke. He hadn’t seen her all day, and she was the only friend/girlfriend/acquaintance he had in this lunch period. He sighed, not enjoying the idea of sitting alone for twenty-six minutes. All twelve seats at the table at which he usually sat were empty, and he dropped his backpack onto it with a _clunk_.

One of the straps of the bag scraped against his arm as it dropped, leaving a bright red scratch on his otherwise nearly purple-from-cold skin. It was mid-October, and if left to his own devices, Jeremy would have been wearing long-sleeves and light-coats weeks ago. But, the SQUIP pointed out that most boys in the school kept up with the t-shirts and basketball shorts right the way through winter. It was right, of course, Jeremy knew he looked like a weeny bundled up in four layers, but still. If he were wearing long sleeves right now, a) the bag couldn’t have scratched him, and b) he wouldn’t be turning fucking purple.

There was a tiny _zing_ on the back of his neck. _Ow_ , he thought, _what was that for?_

_YOU WERE LOST IN THOUGHT. YOU NEED TO GO BUY LUNCH OR YOU WON’T GET BACK HERE UNTIL FIFTEEN MINUTES BEFORE THE BELL, THEN YOU WON’T HAVE TIME TO GET YOUR HOMEWORK DONE. OR, RATHER, FOR ME TO GET YOUR HOMEWORK DONE._

_Right, right, sorry_.

He traipsed over to the lunch line, got his sad excuse for a gluten-free chicken sandwich (thanks Celiac disease!) and a water, returned to the barren lunch table, and sat down. He contemplated the “sandwich” on his tray, pondering whether it was worth eating. He took a bite. It was _exactly_ room temperature, and tasted like what an alien would make if it had had the flavour of chicken described to it in loose terms by a human who hadn’t eaten any for at least a decade. Decidedly not worth eating.

He picked up the water bottle, but it was chilled, and he was already cold enough. Purple-grey veins spiderwebbed across his pallid skin. The cold was really starting to get to him, actually. Usually his hands and feet would turn to ice while the rest of him remained alive, but now the chill had set in right under his heart and he was starting to shiver uncontrollably. He wasn’t a fan of this.

Jeremy’s eyes flicked up to the clock on the wall. Sixteen more minutes, great. Sixteen more minutes before he could walk to his next class and try to generate a few joules of body heat. He looked again at the empty table around him. There were people talking at all the other tables in the cafeteria, people were crammed two-to-a-seat in some places, but no one elected to come over here. Hadn’t he gotten a SQUIP just so he wouldn’t have to be alone like this anymore?

 _YOU CAN’T SERIOUSLY BE BLAMING ME FOR THIS._ Speak of the devil, the SQUIP manifested visually in the seat across from Jeremy, wearing Matrix-era Keanu Reeves’s face as usual. _I’M NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE ABSENCE OF A NON-SQUIPPED INDIVIDUAL. BE REASONABLE, JEREMY._

Jeremy felt another zap and realized he’d been slouching without noticing. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just-” another zap, stronger this time.

The SQUIP raised a phantom eyebrow. _DON’T MAKE EXCUSES, DON’T SPEAK ALOUD._

“No one’s liseni- ow!”

_YOU CAN’T KNOW NO ONE’S LISTENING, THERE’S SOMEONE CLOSE. TAKE OUT YOUR HOMEWORK._

His arms started moving without his willing them too, and he jerked his math binder out of his bag and on to the tabletop. “What do you mean ‘someone close’? I don’t see anyone- OW!”

_DROP IT AND SHUT UP._

_Fine, fine_ . Jeremy grabbed a pencil and opened the binder, but something was stirring in his mind. I _don't see anyone_ …  The SQUIP placed its hand over his, ready to guide him to write the answers as it always did, but something was wrong. Even when it made Jeremy see its phantom persona, it wasn’t there and it could never interact with the physical world. Jeremy never felt anything when it touched him. But now, its hand was noticeably warm. He lifted his head to look the SQUIP directly in its face, a question in his eyes, but it flickered out, leaving behind empty air.

Or, at least, air that _looked_ empty. Jeremy still felt someone’s hand on his. All at once, the emotional walls he’d been building in his own head came crashing down in the same instant, and water welled up in his eyes.

“M-michael?” he croaked.

* * *

 

Michael _never_ stopped looking out for his friend.

Sure, Jeremy may have made a real dick move is choosing to block Michael out of his life, but Michael was the only one who knew what was going on. If he didn’t keep an eye on Jeremy, no one would. So that’s exactly what he did.

While he ate his lunch sushi alone, he’d steal glances over at the cool kids’ table. In class, he’d check to see if Jeremy was paying attention. He’d ask people he knew online if they had heard of SQUIPs (One guy by the name of Sam with whom he played Warcraft said he knew of them, but was reluctant to go on after he'd ascertained that Michael didn't have one). He’d diverted his route home a little bit to pass by Jeremy’s house, to see if he could see him through a window. It took him about a week to figure something was wrong.

Jeremy was never home. Sometimes he’d flinch and an expression of pain would cross his face for no apparent reason. He always looked cold. Nothing he said ever sounded like him. He never smiled when he thought people weren’t looking. His laugh sounded hollow. Michael was worried, but he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t communicate with Jeremy in any way, and it’s not like any adult would believe him if he came up ranting about a tiny, sentient personal computer designed to help out nerdy teens.

He wasn’t sure he even believed it. He could conceive of that sort of technology existing by now, sure, but for that purpose? It just seemed a little hard to believe.

Anyway, since there was nothing he could really do, he tried to stay calm about the whole thing. Jeremy didn’t seem to be in, like, critical impending danger, right? And he’d chosen to optic-nerve-whatever Michael out of existence, so really, Michael was under no obligation, right? Neither of those excuses calmed Michael’s nerves, but he could tell himself they did.

One day, as he sat down at his deserted lunch table once again, he noticed there was no one at Jeremy’s, either. Usually Brooke would be there, surgically attached to his side and occasionally looking over in confusion at Michael, understandably confused as to why he kept staring at them. Michael watched as Jeremy dropped his bag, stood pensively for a minute, and went off to buy lunch.

There was an idea he’d been toying with for a while, but he hadn’t had the opportunity nor the guts to test it out yet. Exactly how close could he get before Jeremy was forced to see _someone_ was there? Without pausing to second-guess himself, he picked up his sushi tray and moved over to the seat across from Jeremy’s, awaiting his return. Sure enough, after about six minutes of wading through the lunch line, Jeremy returned, looking right through Michael as if he were nothing more than air.

Michael watched as his best friend stared dismally at the sandwich in front of him, tested it, and apparently judged it unworthy. Next, he wrapped his hand around the water bottle, but withdrew. Judging from how much he was shivering, Michael guessed he didn’t need anything else cold.

He looked up at the clock behind Michael, for the first time giving a full view of his face, and Michael’s heart almost shattered right there. There were big, dark circles under his friend’s eyes, and he just looked so, so- _sad_. Just sad. Like someone had scooped out his insides and he was walking around hollow.

Then, his gaze turned to Michael. He wasn’t looking _quite_ in Michael’s eyes, maybe an inch or so up, like he was making eye contact with someone in possession of a taller torso, but that must have been a good sign anyway! Maybe Jeremy sensed he was there? But once again, something was wrong. He wore an expression that Michael had seen him wear before, back in sixth grade. He hadn’t written an essay that was due, and the teacher had yelled at him in front of the entire class. He looked guilty for what he’d done, a little angry for being yelled at, but then more guilty because he felt angry about a punishment he’d brought upon himself.

Before Michael could say anything, though, Jeremy flinched and jerked his spine straight.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just-” he began, but cut off.

Michael squinted at his friend’s face. “Jeremy?”

“No one’s liseni- ow!” Once again, he flinched, but he looked in more pain this time.

Michael tried to stretch up a little bit to meet Jeremy’s gaze. “You aren’t speaking to me, are you?” he said dismally.

Jeremy kept staring forward, but his arms moved mechanically beside him, yanking a red binder out onto the table. “What do you mean ‘someone close’? I don’t see anyone- OW!”

He jolted backwards so hard that he almost fell off his seat. As soon as he regained his bearings, he grabbed a pencil, opened the red binder, and poised himself to write, not moving for a second.

Michael wasn’t sure what had just happened. He guessed that Jeremy had been talking to the SQUIP, and it didn’t like what he was saying. Michael looked at Jeremy’s pale, pale hand resting on the unmarked paper, as of yet unmoving. He might as well test out the idea for which he’d come over here. He bit back his breath and reached his own hand forward, covering Jeremy’s. Michael felt like he was holding the hand of a metal robot that had been living in ice fields for centuries.

Jeremy looked up again with his moon-sized eyes, still a little too high up to be looking at Michael. Then, without warning, he locked eyes exactly with his friend, and teared up. Michael still didn’t breathe.

Jeremy looked to be uncertain of the word he was about to say. He stuttered a little as he tried to get it out. “M-michael?”

Michael was both horrified and relieved. Relieved that he got through to Jeremy, but horrified that Jeremy was dissolving before his very eyes. He squeezed Jeremy’s hand.

“It _is_ you,” Jeremy murmured, and raised his other hand, which Michael also took. A tear slipped down Jeremy’s face as Michael brought the other hand to his cheek.

Jeremy forced a laugh. “This is a little fucking weird.”

“You can say that again.” Michael knew Jeremy couldn’t hear him, but it felt appropriate to respond. Softly, Michael picked up Jeremy’s hand that was still poised to write, brought both to his face, and gently blew warm air on them. He was _so cold_.

Jeremy blinked for a minute, and cleared his throat. “Michael, I think I made a mistake.”

Michael waited. He felt like there was more coming.

“Can you help me?”

He placed Jeremy’s hands back on the table, but didn’t let go quite yet. “I’ll try,” he whispered.

Jeremy flinched backwards. “Ow!” he said, almost to himself. “Can you not right now? I just want one min- OW!”

His stare still fixed on Michael, his arms moved as if by themselves, throwing the binder back into his bag and zipping it up. “I-I’m sorry, Michael, I have to- ow! I’m going, I’m going, you can cut that out!” That first half of that sentence was said to Michael, the other half to the floor as he stood up and walked away. And like that, Jeremy was gone, probably on his way to eat in a bathroom.

Michael kept perfectly still for a time, the cogs in his head whirring to beat the band. It went without saying that Jeremy was, to put it lightly, somewhat more in peril than Michael had originally surmised. Michael now knew this, and there was no way of escaping it. He needed to do _something_ , he _needed_ to, but he didn’t have a clue as to what. He did, however, have a clue as to where he might find that information.

The rest of the school day passed in a blur. His legs took him from class to class to class to bus to home and he barely noticed, his headphones on the entire time but with nothing playing. His mind checked back in when he sat down at his computer, though. He swapped out his music headphones for an inferior pair but which also had a microphone, and opened up Warcraft.

“Hey, Sammy? It’s Michael. I know you said you didn’t want to talk about this, but it’s urgent. My friend has a SQUIP and he really needs help.”

**Author's Note:**

> leave a kudos if you so desire, leave a comment if you really want to, you know the drill.  
> as always, I'm @bisexual-evanhansen on tumblr if you have a thought/prompt/anything else you'd like to share :)


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